their naked branches writing poems like promises
on the skyline.
part of the pattern in the intricate tracery
of pure black lace.
the new green
of spring deep as a curtsey, a promise
So we look up,
strain to read
the lines of poetry in bare branches
lacing the horizon.
'Not yet, not yet;
the poems chide,
'A promise given
is a promise kept' and the branches
two-step in the breeze.